


As Seen On TV!

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Announcing Princess Emma Swan!” Trumpets blare and Emma takes five steps forward out of the shadows and into the blinding lights of reality television. She looks down at a row of two dozen men looking like fucking Disney princes and she can’t help the grin that breaks out across her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Seen On TV!

Its Maternal Guilt that makes her do it - some Single Mother Syndrome, if you will. That nagging feeling like she’s not doing enough for her wonderful, brilliant son. The moms who exchange small talk with her as she waits to pick up Henry after school tell her they all experience the same thing, even when they have part-time nannies and full-time fathers in their child-rearing arsonal. But Emma can’t get rid of that little voice telling her she isn’t good enough when she leaves Henry with her neighbor Ruby so she can pull another all-night stakeout on some piece of scum.

At least Emma can say she’s better than the deadbeat bail skippers she drags down to the station.

But still.

Ruby’s latest job is working on costumes for a new reality television show. Her apartment has been filled with yards of rich fabrics and the constant whir of her sewing machine for months now. And all of her research on the Middle Ages has rubbed off on Henry, who hasn’t been able to go a day without watching a period film on Netflix or finding something at the library.

“What’s this show again?” Emma asks one night when she gets a good look at the costumes flung on every square inch of the apartment.

“ _Mom_ ,” Henry whines. He sweeps his thick book on King Arthur into his arms and gives her a sigh that bodes obstinace for his teen years. “Ruby told you a million times. Its called  _Fairy Tale Ending_.” And then her son gives Ruby  _that look_ , one that says they’ve been conspiring behind her back, and innocently smiles at his hard-working mother. “You know, filming starts in two weeks.”

“Oh man, we’re gonna miss you while you’re gone but I’m sure it will be awesome, Rubes.” Emma places her hands on Henry’s shoulders, pulling his back to her front and resting her chin on his head. She gives Ruby a smile.

“Actually Emma,” Ruby begins, and the smile drops off of Emma’s face, “the show is putting me up in a hotel for the month that they’re filming and I told Henry that if it is okay with you, he can join me for a little while to check out filming. All of the male contestants have been doing this intense knight bootcamp for a few weeks now and they’ll all be competing during filming. It would be like witnessing a real-life jousting tournament for a whole month!”

Emma feels her fingers dig into Henry’s shoulders like Ruby is trying to forcefully take her child away from her.

“A month?”

“No, Mom.” He wriggles out of her grasp and gives her an exasperated look. “Like a weekend! Or a week! Summer vacation just started and I’m already going nuts here at home - you said so yourself.” Henry shares another look with Ruby and Emma can already tell that two against one will not end up in her favor.

“How about-” Emma falters, trying to remember her upcoming schedule. “How about we drive you out there, Ruby, and stick around for a few days until we get in your way?”

* * *

Oh yes, it is Maternal Guilt that packs a bag for the four-hour drive to a recreated castle up in Maine. And it is Single Mother Syndrome that makes it easy for her to fall asleep their first night at the hotel.

* * *

Henry’s knuckles are turning white from clutching the fence separating the practicing contestants from the random personel walking past. “So they’re gonna be knights when you’re done with them?” Henry asks, eyes focused on the two dozen sweatpant-clad men dueling with swords in pairs.

Ruby’s gaze is probably focused on the same toned muscles and firm behinds as Emma’s, if her bright red smile is any indication. “Oh yes they will,” she grins.

Emma only wraps her fingers around Henry’s hand and gently pries him away from the fence. “Come on, Henry. Let’s get these costumes into the castle.”

* * *

It takes them about an hour to fold and organize and hang everything to Ruby’s satisfaction. She obviously has much more concern for the way her costume shop is laid out than her own apartment. Emma has just watched Ruby reposition one of the tiaras for the third time when she hears the sound echo down the stone hallway, half-shout and half-growl.

“What the hell do you mean she eloped?”

The three of them exchange wide looks and creep to the door with synchronized tiptoes.

“She had a fucking  _contract_!”

There is a woman in the hallway wearing an elegant dress suit and the angriest expression Emma has seen outside of booking at the station. The woman is yelling at a man who is taller than her, but still cowering a bit in the face of her rage.

“She- she said that she was in love and Freddie was the only man for her.” The man clutches a clipboard like a bulletproof shield but the woman only sighs deeply, smooths out her shoulder-length dark hair, and glares.

“Sidney, you’re fired. If you can’t handle reality television wannabes, you can’t handle this job. Get out of my sight.”

Sidney slinks away quickly.

“That’s Regina Mills,” Ruby whispers. “Executive producer of the show. I try to stay out of her path of destruction.”

Emma snorts. “Smart plan.”

But in one of the greatest moments of irony that Emma will ever recall in her life, that very snort draws the attention of Regina Mills. She turns at the noise and her heels click down the hallway at lightning speed. It is one of those sounds that makes a chill go down your spine.

“Who are you?” she asks, arriving at the door to the costumes department and giving Emma a look from her tennis shoes to her leather jacket. “Do you work for this show?”

“Er, no, Ms. Mills,” Ruby jumps in, pushing Emma out of the way so she falls within Regina’s eyesight. “She’s a friend of mine. She and her son came by to check out filming for a day or two.”

“Son?” The sharp gaze flits to Henry and Emma is pretty sure it softens just a bit at the sight of her wide-eyed kid. “Are you married?”

“Excuse me?” Goosebumps erupt on Emma’s arm and she can feel her shoulders stiffen. “How is that any of your-”

“How would your son like an all-access pass to the entire month of filming and an all-expenses paid vacation to Europe?”

“I- I-”

“That would be awesome!” Henry looks like he’s about to shit rainbows, he’s so excited, but Emma can see the catch that her son is missing.

“You’re looking to replace your princess on the show.”

Regina Mill’s eyes reassess Emma with a hint of surprise. “Yes. I find myself in a bit of a time crunch.”

“Ms. Mills, I’m sorry, but I can’t just abandon my work-”

“ _Mom_! Bail jumpers will be there any old time.” Henry tugs on her sleeve like he did when was five and he wanted some candy from the store. And even now, she is powerless under the sway of those big brown eyes. “This is a chance of a  _lifetime_.”

“Your son is right.” Ms. Mills, terrifying producer, is giving Henry a sweet smile.

Emma lays her hand on Henry’s mop of brown hair and surveys the costumes department as she thinks quickly. The rich fabrics are all around her in dazzling jewel tones. A pale pink gown is next to a purple one with a plunging neckline. Emma had ended up the model for several of the dresses and she can’t deny how beautiful they had made her feel - like she was more than just a bailbonds person, but a princess just waiting to get rescued from her regular life by a dashing prince. She considers another dress, a white one that looks almost bridal. It fit her like a dream.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” The producer smiles and gestures to the door. “Let us go down to my office and work on a contract. One with firm rules about  _elopements_.”

* * *

“Alright, Emma, we’re gonna need you at the top of the stairs.”

Mary Margaret, Regina Mills’ PA and possibly the sweetest person Emma has ever seen outside of a children’s cartoon, places a palm between Emma’s shoulder blades to lead her down the hallway.

“This will be the big establishing shot for the opening ball so we’re gonna need you to be full-on princess mode. Smile, but not too big, and stand at the top of the stairs for a minute to look at the guys. The two top-scoring knights from bootcamp will get the first and last dances with you and one-on-one time with you later in the night.”

The petite brunette holds a hand up to her headphone-clad ear and nods in response to whoever is speaking. “Okay, they’re ready for you.” She gives Emma two thumbs up, her clipboard clutched between arm and chest, and ducks out of the way of the opening double doors.

“Announcing Princess Emma Swan!”

Trumpets blare and Emma takes five steps forward out of the shadows and into the blinding lights of reality television. She looks down at a row of two dozen men looking like fucking Disney princes and she can’t help the grin that breaks out across her face. She wouldn’t have ever signed up for something like this, but she can’t remember the last time she had a date - probably before Henry knew how to work a game console. She cannot deny the appeal of a bunch of guys all wanting to date her.

“Cut!”

Emma blinks and turns around to the director with a deep frown on his face. “We’ll have to do that again!” he shouts. Then he gives Emma an annoyed glare. “How about you look more serene, sweetheart? You look like you just won the damn lottery.”

She bites her lip and goes back to her mark, not so sure she wants to admit that his observation was on-point.

* * *

“So what do you do?” Emma tries to ignore the camera following their every move and the strange feeling of being overheard even as she tries to follow the guy’s lead. He is a good dancer, however, and she tries to focus on the movement rather than the strangeness of the situation. Laugh lines appear beside soft blue eyes and he ducks his head in this adorable little shy move.

“I’m a vet.”

“A vet?” Instead of being sweet, she goes right for teasing. Its a defense mechanism, really. “Aren’t vets just doctors who can’t cut it?”

Instead of getting offended, the knight just laughs a little and leads her in an elegant twirl. “I’ve heard that before. Its more like vets are people who wanted lots of animals when they were kids but their parents would never let them have any.”

“Sounds like my son.”

“You have a son?” Far from looking concerned, the knight just gives her another smile and she wonders why she feels so open with this guy she just met. “How old is he?”

“He’s ten and he would adopt every animal in the shelter if I let him.”

The spend the rest of the dance chatting about animals and childhood and by the time David Nolan kisses the back of her hand Emma starts to wonder if the rest of this show will be as effortless.

* * *

The second guy steps on her feet.

The fourth one looks caught when she mentions her son.

The tenth one smells really really bad and she thinks maybe he’s taking this whole Medieval thing a bit too seriously.

The thirteenth guy gives off a serious creeper vibe.

By the time she finishes with the seventeenth guy, Emma has to ask for a ten-minute break because her feet are killing her and she’s thinking maybe reality television dating is like speed dating but more embarrassing.

“Are you okay?”

Mary Margaret has returned and she has Henry in tow, fiddling with some chain mail that Ruby must have found for him to wear. The PA gives her a sympathetic look and hands her a glass of water.

“Are you single, Mary Margaret?” The brunette turns a little pink and she nods. “Would you go on a show like this?”

“I don’t-” she falters and looks around. “I don’t think the princess thing is for me, to be honest.”

“I don’t think its for me either.” Emma takes a big gulp of the water and stands up again to peck Henry on the cheek.

“You look beautiful as a princess, Mom,” Henry says with only a hint of reluctance, probably from the bit of lipstick he has to rub off of his skin. “I think this is awesome.”

Emma ruffles Henry’s hair and gives Mary Margaret a nod. “Alright, let’s get back to this.”

* * *

Number eighteen is as boring as plain toast, but he’s nice enough.

By the time number twenty-four bows before her and offers his hand to dance, Emma’s pretty sure she just wants to climb into her favorite sweatpants and fall asleep to a cheesy infomercial. The next thirty days of sleeping in a drafty room at a castle are going to be the end of her.

“I think I made a mistake.” The rich, deep accent makes Emma blink back to awareness and give this final guy another glance. He’s easily the handsomest of the lot, she thinks. And he is definitely her type, all dark hair and dangerous scruff. Ruby must have felt the same way, dressing him in tight black leather pants and a bright red vest unbuttoned halfway to his navel.

“You’re regretting signing up for a reality dating show too?” She grumbles.

The guy - Killian Jones - laughs, and the sound makes her stomach flip. “No, love, I made a mistake because I thought that being the final dance of your evening would cement me in your brain better than the first. But now I see that I am doomed to dance with an exhausted princess and I know that my charm can only go so far.”

“Who said I was exhausted?”

His eyes are a deep, beautiful blue, and when they narrow Emma has the strange sense that he can read her thoughts. “You are a bit of an open book.”

“Am I?” Her eyebrows fly up to her hairline and she can feel herself bristle. “So what am I thinking right now?”

Killian gives her a comical wink. “You are thinking of how handsome I am, of course.”

She rolls her eyes but she can’t stop the blush from stealing across her face and betraying that, a moment ago, she had been thinking that  _exact_ thing.

“It is alright, love, I get that often.”

* * *

She doesn’t eliminate him that night - there are much bigger fish to fry - but he’s the last one she calls forward to retrieve his sword and instead of looking relieved at being saved, he grins and sweeps into a ridiculous bow.

“I love a challenge,” he declares before strutting back to his place in line.

The memory of how his ass looks in the leather pants stays with Emma until she finally falls into a restless sleep in her canopy bed.

* * *

“So what are we supposed to do again?”

David looks over at Mary Margaret, grinning behind her hand off-camera, and gives her a goofy smile. His hands are covered in flour and there is even a smudge of it on his cheek that Emma thinks makes him look roguish. Emma is covered in flour as well and there are handprints on the chests of the other two contestants who are in the kitchens with her and David, trying to make a pot pie from scratch. They’re making more of a mess than anything, but Emma doesn’t seem to mind too much. David has everyone laughing with his hilarious antics.

“You have to knead the dough,” Mary Margaret gets out between giggles. David picks up a lump and looks at it quizzically. “Here, let me show you.” The brunette comes around to the table and firmly presses her knuckles in the squishy dough. David punches his lump pathetically and Mary Margaret chuckles again. She makes to place her hands over his when she is stopped by the clearing of a throat.

“Are we shooting?”

Regina Mills gives them all death glares and, slowly, Mary Margaret withdraws her hands.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Mills, I was just explaining-”

“Explaining what, Miss Blanchard?” A perfectly-plucked eyebrow shoots upward.

Mary Margaret offers a tentative smile and exits the shot.

Emma can’t help but notice how David’s shoulders fall a little bit when she leaves the room five minutes later.

* * *

“You are going on your first solo date with Killian.”

There are still crusty bits in Emma’s eyes from sleep, so she has to ask Regina to repeat herself as she leans against the doorway and squints at the executive producer.

“You two have good chemistry and the audience will root for him. I can see the hashtag already.  _I love a challenge_.”

“That sounds too long.”

Regina’s lips purse. “Then get him to say something else that will fit in a tweet.”

Emma runs her palm across her face. “I thought  _I_  got to pick my solo date.” She had been thinking of David since he was the only guy she felt comfortable talking to.

“Well that’s what the audience will think. So make them believe it.” The click of her heels echos down the hallway before Emma can formulate a response so she ends up grunting in frustration instead.

Why did she agree to this?

* * *

Ruby tries to wrestle Emma into another damn evening gown for the romantic dinner they have planned for her and Killian until she loudly bemoans the chance to actually swordfight when a world-renowned teacher is on retainer on the next floor up. Henry catches wind, gets that mischievous sparkle in his eye, and the next thing she knows the candlelight becomes a midday lesson with swords.

Regina must have a real soft spot for her son.

Emma runs her fingers over the soft leather of the breeches Ruby was allowed to dress her in and thinks she has never been so happy to see her legs before. She was starting to wonder if there was anything even under her long skirts.

"Are you paying attention, Swan?"

Killian gives her an exasperated look over his shoulder. His legs are lunged forward in a low attack position and Emma hasn't minded the chance to admire his form as he spars with the trainer.

"I haven't taken my eyes off of you, Jones," she retaliates.

He turns back to Lance and their swords lock together. "I would despair if you did."

She rolls her eyes and watches as he gets thoroughly beaten by the dark-skinned trainer. When he falls on his ass and huffs in annoyance, Emma bursts into laughter.

“You think this is so easy, love? Why don’t you give it a go?” Killian awkwardly lumbers to his feet and holds out his sword, but Emma walks right past him. She makes her way to the rack of weapons and ponders the assortment for a moment. Her hip is cocked and her fingers stroke her chin and she can feel Killian’s eyes on her back and on her ass and good god she kind of wants to draw this out as long as possible. Ruby was so right - these blue pants make her look like a badass warrior princess.

She picks up a few swords before she settles on one that feels friendly in her grip. Emma swings it a few times just to get the feeling of the heft and the weight and the lovely arcs it makes in the air. She raises it at Lance and the sword master raises his in return.

He’s going easy on her at first - she can tell by how lightly his weapon presses against hers - but when she does a complicated turn and lunges to tap him in the calf, his block is lightning-fast and a smile breaks across his face.

“Good form, princess,” Lance grins.

He picks up the technique, trying to find her weaknesses, and when she gets cocky and does another turn, he taps her arm and she laughs at her mistake.

“I would be pissed, Master Lance, if I weren’t dueling the Hudson Prize winner of ‘98.”

He laughs at that and bends at the waist in a short, awkward bow. “These guys are lucky you aren’t competing for your own hand or none of them would be able to keep up.”

Emma winks and returns the sword to the rack and this time she  _knows_ Killian is staring at her - although she can’t read his response to the surprising turn of events. She brushes off her hands and turns, expecting the absolute worst.

He looks like Christmas just came early.

“You know how to sword fight.”

She shrugs. “Took a few classes.”

His jaw is almost touching the ground it is drooping so low and Emma has an irrational desire to step over to him and lightly bring his lips back together again. She resists.

“Is that how you catch your criminals, love? Challenge them to a sword fight?”

Emma bites her lip and shakes her head. “No. My son’s been obsessed with the Middle Ages for two months now. He begged us to take a swordfighting class together and I guess I pick stuff up like that easily.” She hesitates for a moment, wondering if she should do what she sort of wants to. It will make for great tv, she knows that, but she wonders if a part of her just wants to do it for herself. “Can I show you?”

He nods dumbly. Killian picks up his sword and gestures to the rack as if he expects her to pick up her discarded weapon. She shakes her head again and steps up behind him.

His breath catches in his throat when she places one hand on his hip and the fingers of her other hand wrap around his right wrist. She can almost feel his heartbeat like this, her chest against his back, and wonders if he can feel hers as well. It must be pounding a mile a minute, after her duel with the sword master and the butterflies racing in her stomach.

“You guys have been doing this for two weeks,” she whispers in his ear, guiding his arm up and swiping it in an elegant arc. “And I’ve been doing it for two months. The only difference between our two techniques,” she lifts his arm again and he lets out a low moan that causes her hips to involuntarily press forward, “is that now this is muscle memory for me.” Slowly -  _so slowly_  - she sheaths his sword and lets her fingers linger on his right wrist. “You just have to be  _patient_ Jones, and follow the course.”

The room is so still that Emma isn’t sure either of them are breathing anymore - she’s even forgotten about the cameras and about Lance and the fact that her son is probably looking over a fence or something to watch her kick Killian Jones’ ass at swordfighting. The world has narrowed down to his hips pressed against hers and how his neck is slowly turning so she can look in his deep blue eyes.

Oh shit.

“I know how to be patient, darling.”

His eyes flick to her lips and back again and Emma pulls away in shock before she does something stupid like  _kiss him_.

“Well good,” she says roughly, attempting to laugh. “Because you’ll need to work your ass off if you want to beat me.”

“Is that so?” The vulnerability dissipates and that damn swagger returns full force. He removes the sword from its sheath and gives her a grin. “That sounds like a challenge if I have ever heard one.”

She thoroughly trounces him in three rounds, but it doesn’t look like he cares too much.

* * *

The next rewards challenge is swordfighting. When she watches him come in third place, she wonders how many extra hours he put in of practice. Its enough that his technique has improved, but she can still feel his skin beneath her fingers as she watches him fight.

The third place winner gets a painting class with her and one other knight of her choice. She chooses Walsh Green, an annoying sonofabitch who she doesn’t like much, but can tolerate. She giggles the whole time while Walsh talks about himself and doesn’t let Killian get a word in edgewise.

Let Regina make a hashtag out of  _that_.

* * *

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Emma stares longingly at Ruby’s baggy - yet fashionable - boyfriend jeans and sighs. She never thought she would get so sick of velvet and silk.

“Because you need to get laid,  _princess_ ,” Ruby retorts with a sly grin, her steamer moving methodically over costumes. “I wish I could say I orchestrated this whole thing myself, but we all know I’m not enough of a planner. It must have been fate telling you that you need some sex.”

Emma snorts. “Is it you or  _fate_ that thinks I should sleep with one of those guys?”

The seamstress lifts the steamer and playfully hits Emma with a blast of warm, moist air. “Stop complaining, you. There are some top-notch male specimens out there.”

“Such as?”

Ruby taps one of her signature red nails against her teeth in an exaggerated show of contemplation. “Like that male model?”

“Rube, he couldn’t count to ten on his fingers.”

“Why would he need to count when he knows how to  _use_ the fingers?” She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and Emma smiles a little at the thought of the hunk - well, you know.

“But you can’t think I’d seriously date any of these guys.”

Ruby huffs and finally turns off the steamer, leaning against the window sill beside Emma. “How about David? You guys seem to really get along.”

Emma gently nudges her shoulder against Ruby’s. “We do. But he feels more like a friend or a brother to me. I don’t feel that  _spark_. Plus I’m pretty sure he has the hots for Mary Margaret.”

“Regina’s PA?” Emma nods. Ruby whistles low and grins. “Go Mary Margaret,” she mutters appreciatively. “So wait - why haven’t you eliminated him?”

She shrugs. “He makes me laugh. If I have to go on a three-week European prize package with anyone, he’d be the best of the bunch.”

“The  _best_?” Ruby’s eyebrows are almost touching her hairline now and Emma knows what she’ll say before she says it. “How about Killian?”

Emma groans loudly and pushes away from the wall so maybe she won’t be able to feel Ruby’s delight from across the room. “What about him? If you leave his clothes unbuttoned any more you’ll have to give him a navel piercing.”

The sound of cackles makes Emma turn back and she feels her face flush hot.  _Shit_. She’s admitted that she was paying attention to the stupid Brit.

“You always said you liked a man in black.”

Emma scowls and tugs on the sleeve of a white dress. “I think Regina wants me to pick him for the final two.”

“So why don’t you?”

“C’mon, do you even see me being with someone like that? He’s cocky, arrogant-”

“-hot as hell-”

“-and he walks around like a total ladies man. I don’t need someone like that in my life. I’m looking for someone I can trust, not a one-time thing.”

The way Ruby’s lips purse clearly imply that the brunette doesn’t see anything wrong with  _one time things_  but Emma is pretty sure that non-relationships like that will only do more harm to her heart and to her son’s life than any momentary pleasure can outweigh.

* * *

When they got to the final four, the producers had planned on the original princess’s family coming to the castle so they could do a whole week of her hoity-toity parents struggling with roughing it. Apparently, their first royal would find the “princess” moniker more comforting than Emma has. Vaguely, Emma wonders if Abby is still accepted at her parents’ castle after running off with her father’s junior partner.

In lieu of actual family to join them, this week will be all about Henry being trotted out. The thought of her son on national television makes Emma feel slightly queasy, but Henry had jumped at the opportunity to get all dressed up for a few days and get some knight lessons of his own. Sure, Emma’s gone with him down to the practice grounds and supervised Lance improving on his basics, but this time he gets to wear a  _costume_. The difference, with cameras around, to capture his every accomplishment and her every smile, means the world to him. And so she lets it happen and hopes that this will hold off her Single Mother Syndrome.

For a little while at least.

Emma and Henry Swan sit down to a formal feast that evening with the last four contestants and Emma wonders if her heart will burst out of her chest from fear and anxiety. Sure, she hasn’t exactly kept her son a  _secret_ , but its different to see her kid and realize that he’s a living, breathing human who will be a part of her life forever.

The men reach out to shake Henry’s hand like he’s a proper gentleman and Emma has to hold back her giggles from the way he puffs up with pride.

“Good sirs,” Henry begins in a serious tone that has dropped a few octaves, “I was wondering what your intentions are with my mother.”

Killian chokes on his gulp of wine and David claps a hand over his mouth to hold in a chuckle and the other two just look flabbergasted.

“Well- I-” David rotates his wrist and props his elbow on the table as if he was just getting into a thinking position, “ _Sir Henry_ ,” he begins again, and her son beams for a moment before resuming his stern expression, “I would like to be your mother’s friend and make her happy.”

“Friend?” Henry sniffs a little. “Sorry, we’re in the market for true love over here. Next?”

The male model offers his adoration for Emma’s lovely eyes and the engineer mentions that he’d like to take care of Emma and Henry in whatever way they need. Her son isn’t having any of it.

“Next?”

“Lad, your mother is quite the woman,” Killian begins, finger running along the rim of his goblet. Henry nods seriously and gestures for him to continue. “She has raised a fine son and it is obvious that she has done a spectacular job of making you into a well-spoken man who thinks the world of his mother. You would not be inquiring about our intentions if you did not.”

He pauses, seeming to search for the right words before he looks up again. “Henry, whatever your mother and I become is up to her as much as it is to me. My intentions are to honor her wishes.”

Henry bites his lip, looks at the dark-haired contestant, and slowly reaches forward for his own goblet - filled with grape juice.

“To my mom!” he says, smiling down at her with so much love that she wonders how she ever doubts herself.

“To your mom!” the men echo. But the only sound she can hear is her son’s voice.

* * *

She runs into David and Mary Margaret making out in the stables two days later. When she catches them, she just smiles and leans against the stall door.

“Good for you.”

“Emma!” David has turned this very amusing shade of red and he’s trying to straighten the shirt that the sweet PA was obviously getting ready to pull off of him. “I’m sorry, this is so horrible of me, there’s no excuse-”

“Its alright, David. I like you, but I never  _liked you_  liked you.”

“Are you- are you sure?” His ears are vivid red too, and Mary Margaret brushes her fingers across them as she removes bits of straw from his hair. “I’d understand if you were upset-”

She waves him off. “Nah.” Her gaze turns to the brunette. “She’s been making eyes at you for weeks now. I was gonna have to eliminate you if you didn’t make a move soon.”

Mary Margaret grips David’s hand and pulls him closer. “Thanks for keeping him around til the top two, Emma. You’re not gonna tell Regina, are you?”

“Of course not.” Emma gives him an overly severe look and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll still show my son and me a fun time in Europe?”

David dips into a deep bow obviously taught to him at knight bootcamp. “It would be my pleasure, m’lady.”

* * *

The hairdresser spends all morning on Emma before her final date with Killian - a testament to the importance of made-for-television hair or the impossibility of Emma’s locks, she’s not sure. She’s finally being allowed to wear the long white dress with long sleeves that actually makes her feel like a princess and she spends an embarrassing amount of time looking at herself in the mirror before going downstairs to meet Killian.

“Princess.”

The dark-haired knight bows before her extended hand. There’s a moment when he looks up at her, twinkle in his eye, and her heart skips a beat before rushing madly. Oh no, the way he smiles up at her, hair tousled, and she gets a flash of desire to see him give her the same look from between her legs and - oh no oh no oh  _no_.

“Jones,” she retorts.

Emma allows him to escort her out the door and toward the stable. When they get there, there’s a little holdup as they wait for the horse trainer to stand on his mark and prepare for his shot, and Emma is clutching Killian’s arm without anyone paying attention to them.

Its nice, kind of.

But weird.

“Emma.”

His voice is low and his eyes dart to the grousing director before meeting her gaze again. He leans forward to tuck one of her hairsprayed curls behind her ear and the words fall out in a tumble.

“I thought you would want to know that Regina would like me to kiss you on our date this afternoon. She made several none-too-kind threats to my person and brought up that bloody contract. I imagine that this would not be something you would want forced on you so I wanted to give warning.”

“Uh.” Her mouth has gone dry. “So you’re going to-?”

Killian shakes his head and a crease appears between his eyes. “Of course not, love. Not if you do not wish it. But you would spare me her rage if you at least allow me to lean forward and attempt to kiss you.” The seriousness leaves his face and he raises his eyebrow teasingly. “I know you have always wanted to slap me, Swan. Consider this your golden opportunity.”

Before she can respond, they’re called back to attention and ushered into the stable.

They have only saddled one horse for their romantic ride out to a picnic. It is a beautiful chocolate brown color and its - well, its sort of big and intimidating. And though Emma has never ridden a horse a day in her life, she fights tooth and nail to have her own transportation. Everyone shoots her down. Even Mary Margaret, who keeps apologizing, tells her that the liability would be ridiculous.

“Try something new, darling,” Killian says, taking her hand and leading her to the horse. “Its called trust.” In one smooth movement, as though he’s been doing it for years instead of weeks - maybe everyone in England knows how to horseback ride; a Colin Firth thing or something - he climbs onto the saddle and adjusts the black quilted coat Ruby’s given for him to wear today in the surprising chill. His hand reaches out again, offering her help if she is just willing to take it.

His hand is warm around hers and when she sits down behind him she wonders if the lightheadedness is from the height or from the giant step she feels like she’s just taken.

“Do not worry, Swan, I shall not let anything happen to you.” Her fingers clutch at his hipbones for only a moment before he gently pries her loose and draws her arms around him. There’s no way to keep from pressing her entire body against his now - not without falling off the horse. But whereas the last time she touched him like this she reveled in the excitement of teasing him, she’s a little lost and a little confused this time around.

“Swan?” He turns to catch her eyes. The assistants are making sure her long dress is falling  _perfectly_ across the horse’s ass before they can leave. But that furrow is back in his brow and he’s frowning. “If you would rather walk to our luncheon-”

“No.” She ducks her head as she holds him closer, hiding her face in his shoulder. “No, I’ll be okay.”

And if, when they take off, she lets one of her palms press against his stomach and thrills at the strength of the muscles she can feel beneath his layers of clothing - well, she’s only human, isn’t she?

* * *

The lunch is actually kind of nice.

Its overdone and elaborate and not something she would ever pack on a picnic, but the food is good and the day is very pretty. Killian keeps making these innuendos that should make her want to punch him, but instead she ends up blushing a little. This is  _so_ not her. Emma Swan eats guys like this for lunch. Hell, she eats guys like this for appetizers at lunch and has plenty of room left for even bigger douches.

“How’d you end up on this show?”

The question has left her lips before she can stop it, so now she has to act like it isn’t a big deal at all that she’s asking. Killian, for his part, only pauses a moment to take another sip of the wine.

“My brother made me.”

“Brother?” Emma pops a cheese cube in her mouth to disguise her surprise. For some reason she always pictured him as an only child. “Why?”

Killian fidgets with the wine goblet for another moment before setting it down with determination and looking her straight in the eye. “Because ever since my wife passed a few years ago I have not had a serious relationship. He thought this would be good for me.”

Emma’s eyes must have grown two sizes and she struggles to keep her face calm.  _Wife?_  She brushes off her fingers and leans across the thick quilt to lay her palm across the back of his hand. “What-” she clears her throat, “-what was she like? If that’s not too hard to talk about-”

Killian shakes his head slightly and chuckles. “Before I came here I might have said it was, but now,” he flips his hand so their palms meet and it takes her breath away a little, how the grooves of their hands seem to fit together perfectly, “now its not so bad anymore.” He gives her a shaky smile before raising his eyes up to the cloudless blue sky. “Her name was Milah and I met her because she had snuck out of her house to watch a band play at a pub.”

* * *

After their food has been utterly demolished, Killian’s grip tightens around her hand and he stands, pulling her up with him. “Let us have a walk then,” he commands in this playful tone, levity finally returning to the date after he finished talking about Milah and she outlined her history with Henry’s father, Neal. She lets herself be lifted and keeps her hand clasped in his as he leads her down a little path into a garden.

He pulls away from her hand and stops for a moment by a rose bush, his lips twisted into an adorably mischievous smile. Pulling his sword out of his sheath - honestly, did he have to bring it with him in the first place? - he uses the weapon to pluck a pink rose and he offers it to her with an elaborate bow.

“A woman as lovely as you deserves a flower, love,” he says. His smile and eyes are doing that thing again where she’s picturing his face between her legs, and she’s not sure if its that or the first flower she’s gotten from a guy - ever - that’s bringing the blush to her face.

Killian takes a deep breath like he is going to say something else but he suddenly stops and his expression softens. Gone is the swagger and the peacocking she has come to associate with him. It is something genuine again, a look he had given her a few nights ago as he told her son his intentions with her and a moment ago as he held her hand and talked about his dead wife. Killian leans forward just enough so that his breath is warm on her lips and her eyes are transfixed by the little scar on his cheek and the hesitance in his eyes.

And then.

Then he pulls back.

Her fingers curl around the stem of the rose, careful to keep away from thorns, and she slips her hand into his again.

“I have to admit,” she says, pulling him along the path again and giving him a coy look out of the corner of her eye, “that riding that horse was a little scary.”

“You just need some practice, Swan,” he replies easily.

“I know - but still. I never thanked you for making me feel at ease.”

His feet stop underneath him and her arm stretches until she gets tugged back in front of him again. “Then I suppose gratitude is in order.” He taps his finger against his lips and gives her that  _ladies man_  look again.

“Oh please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you are the one who could not handle it.”

He won’t kiss her. She knows he won’t. He told her so. He picked a damn flower for her and he couldn’t do it. Even if that means his contract is on the line, Killian Jones is not going to betray her trust and make a move without her consent.

The rose falls on the path, making a soft rustle against the grass as her lips connect with his. But she already knows she needs both hands to wrap around his neck and pull him closer and closer until there isn’t a single gap between them. She’s never kissed someone wearing so many clothes - so many layers. It makes the sweat break across her skin that much faster when he cups the back of her head and gently cradles her as she leads his lips this way and that across her mouth. Its hot and wet and a little messy. It is perfect.

A little moan escapes the back of her throat when she pulls away and his lips follow, already ready for round two. She lowers her arms.

“Emma, love-”

“I think we should get back.”

His pupils are blown wide from desire and he looks a little unsteady on his feet, but he manages to walk them both to the horse and navigate the animal to the stables. She scurries away before the director can ask for a million takes of her getting off the horse or them saying goodbye until the live finale taping.

She just.

She needs to get out of there.

* * *

When she and David have their own luncheon date the next day, she gets up early and works with the trainer so she can ride her own horse.

David looks panicked when he leans in to give her a kiss. She politely turns her cheek.

They part on excellent terms, even if her head is somewhere else - and maybe hear heart too, as terrifying as that idea is.

* * *

Her contract expressly forbids any contact  between the princess and the final two knights during the airing of the episodes. However, Regina does encourage her to watch the episodes with friends and family and to have a presence on social media to trump up interest. Meh. She’s not so interested in live-tweeting her thoughts and feelings - the audience is getting enough of a show as it is - but she curls up on the couch with Henry and Ruby with no small amount of excitement two weeks after they all return from the castle.

Ruby gasps and smiles at the opening shot of Emma in the red ballgown entering from the double doors. “You look amazing!” she squeals, clutching Emma’s arm. All Emma can think about is how nervous she had been that night and the sheer number of takes it had required until the director was satisfied with her expression.

There’s a liberal amount of editing that’s gone into the episodes. The most boring men all look much more interesting with the cuts to their daily interviews and the shots taken from their lives back home. Even she seems much more kind and attentive to thier lame pickup lines when there is a soundtrack playing behind them - and all original music is now available on iTunes!

She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she lets it out.  _Killian_.

He’s already a very handsome man but the camera - or maybe its the editors - seems to love him. He becomes even more charming than he was in person and the look at his boat building business with his brother must make the panties drop of housewives across America.

She looks clever when she banters with him. And it doesn’t look like she hates him. It looks like she  _likes_ him.

“Emma Swan is one tough lass.” From the way his shoulders are moving slightly in the post-ball interview, she’s guessing he’s fiddling with the chunky rings Ruby had given him to wear. “I certainly hope she lets me stick around.” He ducks his head and his face goes a little pink. “No one has given me butterflies like that in a very long time. I was starting to believe it was not possible.”

And when she motions for him to take his sword a few minutes later,  _#iloveachallenge_  appears faintly on the corner of the screen.

“I can’t believe she did that,” Emma mutters under her breath.

There’s a tiara that Ruby let her sneak out of the costumes shop before they left. She watches the streetlight glint off of the crystal as she struggles to fall asleep that night and the image of Killian’s face blushing doesn’t let her find any rest.

* * *

  
The nine weeks pass quickly - eight episodes plus a behind-the-scenes episode - and before Emma knows it she is sending Henry back to school and avoiding the curious gaze of strangers who are pretty sure they recognize her from  _somewhere_ but they can’t put their finger on it.   


Henry himself has been getting a lot of attention. The episode centered on him has created endless media and fan buzz and she’s pretty sure if he were ten years older he’d be getting his own dating show spinoff. She had anticipated leaving him behind with a babysitter while she went for the live taping of the final episode, but Regina calls a week before she takes off and insists that Henry join her and be seated beside her at the final event.

They’ve been emphasizing the  _single mother_  bit a lot. Trying to generate a human interest story that she gets to live a  _rags to riches_  fantasy. Mostly she laughs while she makes another coffee in the morning because this life here with Henry is much more glamorous than living in a drafty old castle in a huge room by herself.

They take off for the final taping early in the morning. Henry’s missing a school day, but neither he nor his teachers seem to worried. Emma herself is a mess - she’s annoyingly, acutely aware of it. When Henry turns off her favorite song on the radio and gives her a  _look_ , she’s pretty sure he’s picked up on it too.

“Its okay to like him, Mom,” he says.

Emma tries to give him a confused look. “Huh?”

“Killian. I’ve been watching the same show you’ve been watching. Its okay to like him. He really likes you too.” Henry tugs on his seatbelt and tips his head back a little. “Plus he’s kind of a cool guy. He’s fun to spar with.”

Her head whips over at that comment and she has to really focus to turn back to the road and not kill them both. “Wait, what?”

“Sparing. He’s fun.”

‘Did you- when did you spar with him?”

Henry turns the radio back on and fiddles with the stations. “A couple times. I thought I’d offer him some pointers after you and him dueled and it kind of became a thing. He’s cool.” He finally settles on another station and seems to lose interest in their conversation, but from the looks she catches him giving her out of the corner of his eye, she’s pretty sure he has much more he’s thinking.

* * *

The castle is a flurry of activity with workers putting the finishing touches on a stadium that’s been constructed on the grounds. Emma is ushered into her old quarters though, Henry sent off into the adjacent room, and the two are dressed and coiffed for the taping. There were many things Emma didn’t miss about all of this, but sitting back while someone else pampered her was not. She closes her eyes and dozes off as her hair and nails are given the best care. Yeah, this is the kind of princess treatment she’s never gone for in the past, but its one that makes her feel soft and lovely and feminine. Her shoulders relax and her rough edges get smoothed out with every pushed-back cuticle. After today she’s going to make it a point to do this more often, to feel good about herself again.

She deserves it.

Mary Margaret slips into the room a half an hour before she’s due on set and Emma stands to embrace her, not caring if her dress gets crushed. The brunette looks a bit more wary and it makes Emma’s pulse race. There’s something going on. Mary Margaret dismisses the beauty crew and only turns back to Emma when the room is cleared.

“I have a message for you,” the PA says in a hesitant voice. “I know you’re not supposed to communicate with the contestants until taping begins but-”

“Just. Tell me.” Emma’s chin goes up a bit and she struggles to keep her fingers from tugging on the skirt of her dress. “Whatever it is.”

“David wants to know what you want him to do.”

“David?” Emma blinks and laughs and the brick in her stomach turns into a balloon. “What do you mean?”

“Emma. C’mon.” Mary Margaret gives her a knowing look and she can feel a blush climb up her face. “David’s been watching the show - we’ve been-” a blush of her own appears, “-talking. And everyone can see how much you two like each other.”

Emma deflects. “Me and David?”

The response is an eye roll. “You and Killian. So David wondered if you want him to throw the tournament and let Killian win. He wouldn’t be offended.”

Emma remembers sparkling blue eyes and soft lips pressed against her own. The only editing that had gone into their last date was cutting down their candid discussion and adding a romantic soundtrack. The horseback rides and the handholding and the kiss had been shown in their full glory and that damn hashtag would be sure to haunt Emma until the end of time.

She likes him.

He likes her.

So what’s the problem?

“Tell him to go all-out. Henry and I are really fun travel companions.”

Mary Margaret’s smile is shaky, but her parting hug is firm, and Emma wonders what other thoughts she has racing around in that head of hers.

* * *

The final episode is to be screened live across the country. The sheer number of lights and crew and audience members is astounding and Emma wonders if they all showed up for the spectacle or the love story or the history or just because they like reality television. She feels more than a little overwhelmed herself and not for the first time that day she thanks whatever gods made Regina Mills get a soft spot for her son, because she isn’t sure she’d be able to do this without him next to her.

“Are you ready?”

The director isn’t giving her a look that suggests he would accept a negative answer, so she just nods. And with the blink of a red light, her face is filling up millions of television screens.

The tournament is quite the production. David and Killian are going head-to-head in wrestling, sword fighting, and dueling. She stands when indicated, waving sweetly to the roaring crowd - someone went over the specifics of how to wave for like ten minutes with her - and seats herself back down again to wait for the two men to enter the stadium.

Ruby has costumed David and Killian in identical outfits in contrasting colors. Although Emma had expected white and black, David is in a pale, serene blue, and Killian in a deep red. The two men come from opposite sides of the stadium and meet in the center with a short handshake. Were these two allowed to interact with one another? Were they texting over the last two months or chatting while getting ready? What have they had to say about this whole reality tv rivalry? They look calm enough, which Emma is finding reassuring.

Its weird enough to have two men fighting for you. It would be extra weird if it were personal.

The two men turn to face her and Henry and, as if they practiced it - probably did, with the same assistant - they bow at the same time. A low wall and several cameras keep her from seeing them clearly, but she thinks she catches a strange look in David’s eye. Is he judging her?

Well screw him.

Emma stands and holds out her arms, bringing silence to the crowd as her image is projected on screens on either side of the stadium.

“Let the final challenge begin!” she declares, and the crowd cheers once again, waving their banners of either red or blue.

* * *

David is a little stockier than Killian and a little faster. He wriggles out from Killian’s grip and pins the dark-haired man before Killian can stand up again. Emma stands up and grins, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her excited cheers.

* * *

Killian beats David at swordfighting. It is no contest, really. Killian looks better than he had back during taping and Emma wonders if he continued to practice after their month at the castle. David concedes with an understanding nod and the two clap one another on the back.

* * *

It’s all coming down to the jousting - a tricky competition that historically both men have had great success and great failures with. Killian is a slightly better horseman but David’s been better at holding the lance high and straight. Emma almost wants to watch between her fingers as they gallop toward one another full-speed.

Killian shatters the first lance.

The second pass, David almost falls off his horse, but manages to break his lance at the last minute.

And on the third pass - the one right before the tv break if Emma knows her down-to-the-wire reality television shows - Emma holds her breath from the moment the flag is waved.

The whole stadium is dead quiet and she can hear the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones. Almost in slow-motion she watches them race toward one another until David flinches at the last minute and Killian leans forward a little and then the knight in blue is tumbling off of his horse and onto the ground, rolling away from the dangerous hooves and coming to a stop.

When David stands up and pulls off his helmet, the stadium goes insane. There is not a single boo, even from those waving blue flags, and Killian leads his steed across the low fence to check on how David is.

There is too much noise for Emma to hear what the knight in red says, but she’s sure a microphone is picking it all up and America is either sighing or swooning. Killian pulls off his helmet as well, tucks it under his arm, and leans down and forward to shake David’s hand.

Then he turns and looks at Emma.

Is there even anyone in the stadium anymore?

She can feel the crowd’s energy and excitement, but its nothing compared to the heat that flows through her body when their eyes connect and he gives her a little half-smile and small shrug as if to say  _Who knew?_

“Fair Princess Emma!” His mic has been turned on and apparently this is the speech written out for him by some sappy intern. “Many moons ago I came to seek your lovely hand and tonight I have proven myself worthy. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my fairy tale ending?”

She told David to fight like hell but somewhere not-so-deep inside of her, she wanted this. She wanted Killian Jones at the end of the journey to offer her his hand and maybe even his heart. She wanted him to fall for her and she has a feeling that maybe he has - if she can tell the difference between reality and fantasy and fantasy-pretending-to-be-reality.

Emma stands up and takes a step forward so her fingers can grip the wall, slipping against the ridiculous banners hanging over the edge of it.

“No.”

If she thought the stadium was silent before, its like the grave now. Killian blinks and his face twists in confusion.

“Er- no?”

This is not part of the script.

“Haven’t we all moved beyond this? Fighting to prove ourselves worthy? Having competitions to ‘win’ a beautiful damsel in distress? I’m sorry to disappoint you and the producers and the rest of America, but the only one who saves me is me.”

Somewhere to her left she can hear a director hissing, “Cut! Cut! Go to commercial break dammit!” but she isn’t sure she cares anymore. Is she breaking her contract? Probably. But all of America just heard her challenge and if they don’t let her say anything more than they’ll all be slammed as sexist sons of bitches - she’s already heard enough from the feminists on Twitter.

Regina appears to her left looking like she’s got a major headache.

“What on Earth are you doing, Miss Swan?”

“I’m breaking my contract, Ms Mills,” she replies sweetly. “And I’m giving your viewers a surprise ending. Get me a sword and let me fight for myself. If Killian wins, he gets the prize package, the magazine covers, whatever. If I win, I get off scott-free.”

Regina’s lips twist for a moment as she evaluates the situation, her future career, and the little boy to her side who is looking at his mother like she’s a badass.

Her fingers press one of the buttons on her headphone. “Get me a sword.” She gives Emma a quick look. “And get the wardrobe girl to bring over a pair of pants.”

By the time Emma shimmies out of her dress and into something she can fight in, finds the best sword, and races onto the dueling circle, she doesn’t have the chance to talk to Killian before they come back from commercial break. Their voices are amplified, however, and ring out across the stadium.

“I seem to remember this not going in my favor last time, love,” he says, testing the waters by tapping against her sword.

“Why do you think I wanted a swordfight, Jones?” she replies. Her voice is shaking more than she wants it to - she wants to seem brave, cocky, everything she imagined him to be when he first held her in his arms and turned her on the dance floor.

“I thought it was so you could teach me how to fight again.” He lunges forward and she blocks him easily. “I did so enjoy your little lesson.”

“Ah, but you only get a lesson like that if you lose.” Their blades are moving faster, meeting one another in the air and the sound echoes around the stadium.

“I would never consider your body pressed against mine a  _loss_ , Princess.”

He goes for the final attack, the same move he beat David with, but she’s anticipating it and she blocks it quickly before kicking his feet out from under him and pointing the tip of her sword at the hollow of his throat.

“Well.” He breathes, heavily, not looking disappointed, but maybe more turned on than ever. “I usually prefer to do other, more enjoyable activities with a woman when I am on my back, but I can accept when I have been bested.” His weapon clatters to the ground and, when she removes hers from his throat, he springs up and sweeps into a bow.

“Not all stories get fairy tale endings. I understand.”

He straightens up but he does not meet her eyes, and by the time she realizes maybe she’s made a mistake, he is leaving the stadium and it is too late.

* * *

They don’t get that vacation. The breech of contract exempts the studio from having to give it to them.

But Emma’s okay with that.

* * *

Emma tries to get their lives back to normal again. She does a few magazine interviews just for some extra cash. She starts a charity for girls who are being bullied to step up and save themselves. Henry moves on from the Middle Ages and starts collecting books and movies on steampunk.

Life moves on.

* * *

Mary Margaret shows up to her door on a Tuesday. She knows its a Tuesday because that’s the day of basketball practice, so she and Henry are just arriving home and she’s standing at the door of the fridge, wondering what happened to all of the groceries she just bought, when they hear the knock at the door.

Emma answers.

And if they had sent anyone other than Mary Margaret, she would have closed the door in their faces.

“The studio wants to do a where-are-they-now episode. Interview you and all the guys and check up with you. See what’s happened since.”

Emma gestures to the chaos of their apartment and the pile of basketball clothes Henry shed as he walked through the door.

“This is what’s happened since, Mary Margaret. Not much to tell.”

“C’mon, Emma, the show didn’t have any resolution. Fans are  _begging_ to get another look at what happened. There are speculations that your favorite was kicked off too early because he couldn’t fight, that you’re a lesbian, that you never wanted to do this in the first place-”

“Its option number three. Aren’t they clever?”

“ _Emma_.” She turns and sighs. “Consider it, okay?”

* * *

Emma looks at the amount Mary Margaret has scribbled on a sticky note she left on the counter. Then she opens up the computer and checks out her bank account.

She sighs, looks at the way her son is biting his lip to keep himself from talking, and nods in defeat.

* * *

When they get her back into hair and makeup, Emma remembers how she utterly failed to keep herself pampered. Its criminal, almost. But stepping out onto the set is much less intimidating when she’s not wearing an old-fashioned dress and the crowd is slightly more manageable in size and she’s gotten a chance to look over the interviewer’s questions beforehand.

They bring back the guys one-by-one for dramatic effect, playing clips from the show before they enter. Some are funny, some sweet, some macho. Emma just laughs and sighs with it all. As the first twenty-two are touted out, she can look at them without regret - her prince charming wasn’t in the bunch. Not really.

David looks sweet as always. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and when he talks about how much fun he had with Emma while shooting, mothers across America call up their daughters and ask why they can't find a nice boy 'like that David Nolan fellow.'

And if David keeps smiling at Mary Margaret who is standing by one of the cameras, well more power to him.

They wait until after commercial break to bring Killian in. The big hitter. Ruby informed her before taping started that #iloveachallenge has been trending all day. She audibly groaned at the time, but now her heart leaps in her throat and she wonders what his opinion would be on the whole thing.

It's electric when he walks out. It always is. While the studio audience cheers and the guys onstage applaud, his eyes are on Emma and Emma alone. She wishes that the list of interview questions would have included tips for how to breathe when she was drowning in his eyes.

_Damn_. When did she become a walking cliche?

"It is lovely to see you again, Emma," he says without a hint of scorn. He takes her hand and brushes his lips across her knuckles softly.

"You too," she murmurs.

The host is asking all sorts of inane questions and most of them seem pretty pointless until one that catches Emma off-guard.

"What were you thinking in that final sword fight, Killian? When you were fighting Emma for her very heart?"

Killian shakes his head slightly and a lock of dark hair falls across his forehead. "I was never really fighting for her heart, mate. That is not something you can win in a contest."

"You-" the man looks confused. "You can't?"

"No. It is something that a woman gives willingly. So if Emma had wanted me to win that fight, I would have."

Her fingers are shaking slightly. Did she want to win that duel? Or did she want him to? Should she have fought better? Or worse? Her head is starting to turn and she's not sure-

"Funny you should say that." The host grins like he has an ace up his sleeve and when the television flickers to life Lance's face fills up the screen.

"I was fairly surprised to watch the final episode, to be honest." He gives a little shrug. "After the time in the castle wrapped, Killian hired me to continue to train him. We worked for weeks nonstop and he improved tremendously. I could tell he was holding back in his battle with David to prolong the event. And with Emma, I can tell you that he straight-up threw the fight."

The screen goes black and Emma cannot feel her fingertips anymore.

"Emma?" The host sounds like he is holding back his excitement. "Any reaction?"

She takes a deep breath. Then two. Then she drags her eyes from her hands and meets his gaze.

"Is it true?"

He does not even attempt to lie to her. "Aye."

"Why?"

"I meant what I said, Swan. If you would have wanted to lose the fight you would have. 'Twould have been ungentlemanly to refuse your wishes."

His chair is only about three inches away but it feels like it takes three miles for her hand to cross to his jaw and bring his lips to her own.

She is more desperate this time because she remembers how he kisses and she missed it every damn day. Henry cheers and Ruby whistles and even David hoots but it all feels like useless white noise when her blood is rushing through her veins.

"Next time we kiss," she whispers against his lips, holding her hand over her mic so it doesn't pick up the sound, "why don't we do it without any cameras around?"

"That sounds divine, love."

* * *

They finally take that European trip the following summer, Henry and Killian's brother Liam joining them as they explore the Age of Enlightenment - her kid's newest obsession. And when Liam takes Henry to a museum for a night so she and Killian can have a nice dinner by themselves in Paris, she doesn't feel a lick of guilt.

Henry has two parents now to share the burden. And he's turning out pretty awesome so far.


End file.
